My new nickname, thanks to Juicebox.4. How did I earn said nickname? Foolishly.

On Sunday, I was quickly rolling a second coat onto the walls of the living room before I had to go to coach a field hockey game. The room was a mess, and I could not maneuver the ladder amongst the toys and dirty laundry. So, I found myself standing instead on furniture. I broke the television stand under my weight, but I kept on going.

I was almost done. Marcia called. She was on her way home and told me I didn’t have time to paint. I climbed up on a kitchen chair, determined to finish the job, still on the phone. I was rolling near the window, last couple spots to finish up. All of a sudden, the chair spun beneath me.

I lost my balance, but gripped the phone and the paint roller, and braced for impact. My elbow went through a framed picture of the family, back against the painted wall, and then fell hard to the floor right on my back. I was surrounded by glass, and told Marcia I couldn’t talk, but to get home, and I handed the phone to Eden. She started screaming and I realized that my arm was just dripping blood into a puddle on the floor. Noah grabbed me a role of paper towels, and we called my dad for help, as I needed a ride to get stitches.

As I was keeping the kids from the glass and holding the paper towel to my arm, Noah calmly told me that he was going to get his shoes on so that he could clean up the glass. And he did exactly that. And he was calm amidst what could have been a storm.

Patient First. 8 stitches. The first stitches of my life (besides those related to surgeries). I was back to coaching that night, helping Marcia run the field hockey clinic. And haven’t taken a night off since. 4 days later, and no infection yet. Hasn’t completely stopped bleeding and pussing. But it should heal completely in the next few days, and I know Marcia is itching to remove the stitches.

Hard to believe that these are my first injury-related stitches, and I am 37 years old.